


While Time Remains

by buffy_and_spike



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Personal Canon, Post-Trespasser, Romance, Slow Burn, Solavellan Hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28489416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffy_and_spike/pseuds/buffy_and_spike
Summary: “If what Solas told you is true,” Leliana begins, her emerald eyes settling on me. “This kind of event requires a terrible sacrifice - one that he has already accepted as necessary and is unlikely to walk away from.”“I have to try,” I tell her and I’m suddenly relieved nobody else is in the room. For whatever reason, Leliana has always understood my desire to find Solas. Even now, even after everything, she understands my desire to save him.The others will not.I do not.
Relationships: Cole & Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor & Blackwall, Female Inquisitor & Cassandra Pentaghast, Female Inquisitor & Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus, Female Inquisitor & Josephine Montilyet, Female Inquisitor & Leliana (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor & Sera (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor & The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor & Varric Tethras, Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. Choices

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished Trespasser for the first time and as you can imagine, my life has been ruined by this stupid egg. A03 - thank you for being my outlet for all the pain and suffering this game has caused me. And Solasmancers - thank you for being here to make the pain and suffering at least a little bit fun.

I stumble through elven ruins, clutching my arm like I used to clutch the man who walked out of my life only moments before - possibly forever this time. Solas’ final words linger long after his absence, taunting me with every weak stride towards the eluvian.

_I will never forget you._

It’s hard to say exactly how much time has passed since he spoke those words, how long I sat there on my knees staring at the enchanted mirror he disappeared into. I began to wonder - if I didn’t move, if I didn’t make a sound, could I pretend that none of it was real? That I never bore the Mark, that I never held the title of ‘Inquisitor,’ that I was back with my clan, a nobody collecting elfroot in the forest. 

I step through the eluvian once more and find Varric, Dorian and Bull staring back at me, waiting for a battle that will never come.

“What happened? Did you … find Chuckles?”

I keep my crestfallen gaze to the ground and remain silent. Bull steps closer to me, his voice starting to fade into background noise.

“Boss?” 

“Your arm,” Dorian utters in a frightened whisper, forcing me to look at the new shape my limb has taken. The painful sight of my scorched-to-the-bone appendage sends me back to my knees and into the arms of Bull, whose voice carries me into a dream-like state.

“Hang on, Boss!”

“Tiny, pick her up! _Hurry!_ ”

Their voices slip away from me until all I can hear are words I long to forget.

_Solas, Var lath vir suledin._

_I wish it could, Vhenan._

* * *

Dressed in casual garb, Solas stands in front of a Dalish glass window with his back to me. Sunlight pours into the room, giving life to the Embrium-filled pots that sit in each corner. I don’t recognize the location but for some reason, I’m at ease. _Something_ feels over or - more accurately - _paused._ The pain, perhaps.

“Hello, vhenan.”

I attempt to rub my eyes out of habit but am reminded of a missing limb. 

“Am I dead? Is this -”

“I told you I would save you, did I not?” His voice is calm, like he didn’t just send my world crashing down moments before.

“Funny. It doesn’t feel like being saved,” I say, rolling my eyes to my forearm wrapped in bandages.

“What would you have had me do? Let the anchor kill you?” 

“Why didn’t you?” I question him, sitting up as slightly as I can. “You know I’m coming after you.”

“And you’re so certain you will?” He continues to face away from me, his voice as serene as ever.

All my senses tell me this isn’t real.

The sunlight through the window is just a little too bright. Solas visiting me while I sleep, like we’re set back two years in time, is just a little too good to be true.

“As long as I don’t die before then.”

“Still so stubborn.” I can hear the smile on his lips.

“Were you expecting something different?” I ask, crawling out of bed and meeting him at the window. “Like maybe your absence turned me into a shell of a person? It didn’t.”

_Yes, it did. It very much did. I’m sure every spy you planted in the Inquisition can tell you it did._

“Not at all. It’s one of your best attributes. Your determination, your fight. Knowing it wasn’t lost is a comfort to me.”

A scoff falls out of my mouth.

“Well. My mission in life _is_ to please you,” I say with raging sarcasm. A sigh of defeat escapes his lips before he finally turns around, forcing himself to face me. Suddenly, he has all the power.

I swallow hard as Solas beams down with heavy blue eyes, the sunlight dancing in his irises. 

“You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?” There’s a crack in my voice. 

“I have a duty to my people - one I must see through. I have hope that in time, you will understand.”

“I _do_ understand,” I tell him, shaking his arm with my good hand. “And I’m going to find another way.”

“There isn’t one.”

“So you say. But you’ve been wrong before.”

“I wish I was this time.”

His long, slender finger brushes a silver strand behind my ear and I close my eyes, holding onto the sensation as long as I can.

“Let us speak of these things no more. You must rest,” he says, returning his hands behind his back.

There are still a million and one questions I have for the man in front of me - whether it’s really him or not. But I know our time together could end any second - so I settle for taking his hand instead. Intertwining it with my own, I ignore the subtle shock on his face and bury my cheek in his shoulder. 

“To bed,” he breathes into my hair.

Solas’ earthy scent fills my lungs as he guides me to the mattress, a strange floatiness in our movement. 

As I sink under the covers, I wonder if this is my future; if I’m doomed to spend the rest of my one-armed life dreaming of The Dread Wolf, praying for his return. I suppose from the moment I met him, it was destined to be this way. 

Solas hovers over me and places a gentle kiss upon my forehead, taking me in once more before his anticipated disappearance.

“Dareth shiral.”

* * *

I wake in a panic. Gone is the sun’s warmth and the plants’ aroma. Gone is Solas. 

_You think I’d be used to it by now._

All feelings of warmth quickly freeze over; I’m suddenly filled with anger and grief and so much more that my body can’t handle. One by one, memories of what happened come back to me in tiny, terrible pieces. 

_Hundreds of Qunari statues surround me once I step through the Eluvian, the smoke still lifting off their skin. Without enough time to process the fact that this is Solas’ doing, I hear his voice. My heart starts to pound in my chest, so hard it might break. My legs are heavy. I run and run and run until I can see him._

My thoughts break to take in the room - Orlesian windows and navy blue curtains that trigger crippling anxiety.

_Ah. How I’ve missed The Winter Palace._

As I wriggle beneath the sheets, the distant voices of my friends slowly bring me back to life - although I’d much rather pretend I’m still unconscious. 

“Will she still be able to fight this way?” Cassandra asks the spirit healer in the hallway.

_Of course that’s her question._

“Is she going to be okay?” Josephine asks on top of that.

_And of course that’s hers._

“Casting spells should come back to her naturally but her combat abilities will be … greatly diminished.”

Warm tears pool in my eyes as I look up at the endless ceiling. 

“As for her health - it will take time. But yes. Eventually, she will be just fine,” he tells them.

_Must all the men in my life lie?_

_I won’t be “fine.”_

_I’ll never be “fine” again._

With great hesitation, I finally bring myself to look at the swathed mess that once earned me the title ‘Herald of Andraste.’ 

_This Mark will be striking fear into no one’s heart any time soon. Except maybe my own._

“We must return to The Exalted Council,” Josephine says in her usual diplomatic voice. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

_The Exalted Council._

The words alone are enough to make me pull myself together. I listen to Josephine and Cassandra’s steps descend down the hallway before rising out of bed. The sound of covers ruffling immediately alerts the mage, who then comes barreling back into my room.

“Your Worship, you mustn’t-”

“I’m sorry, but I must,” I interrupt with vigor. The spirit healer takes a few steps away from me and my attitude, and I can tell he isn’t game to argue either. “But thank you - for everything.” 

As my feet touch the floor, my eyes frantically search around for the formal wear I loathe. A red and blue atrocity drapes over the chair beside me and I am both relieved and put-off by the vision.

_Okay. Let’s try this._

A few glances back and forth between my uniform and forearm nearly tempt me back into bed, but I hear Solas’ chilling voice echo through my brain.

_You should be more concerned about the Inquisition. Your Inquisition._

I know what I need to do. I’ve known since I heard his confession as we stood on the edge of the world. 

The Inquisition can no longer exist. 

I try to find my balance while the Mage hurries out of the room, most likely in search of someone to restrain me. I refuse to give him the chance, to give _anyone_ the chance.

Desperately trying to ignore how dizzy I feel, I snatch the uniform with my right hand and struggle through dressing. I start with my tight-fitting trousers, holding them from the center and stepping into them.

_So far, so good._

I take a deep breath before attempting the jacket. My good arm falls through a sleeve hole with ease while the other requires a bit of maneuvering. 

As expected, the buttons give me trouble. Fastening them requires a precision I no longer have but my pointer finger and thumb give it all they got. When I finally get a single stud through, I realize I’ve put it in the wrong place. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck ..._

Infuriated, I slam my blue wrap flat on the mattress and let out a long-awaited scream.

“Oh, no. It’s the end of the world again, isn’t it?” 

The mere sound of Varric’s voice while I’m falling apart summons tears.

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” I say sadly, refusing to look at him directly. I fiddle with the end of my jacket while he leans his side against the doorframe. 

“I don’t suppose you’re ready to talk?”

_About Solas? Unlikely. About every other problem in my life? Why not._

“I used to be able to close holes in the sky and now I can’t even fasten a button without having a mental breakdown,” I tell him, trying desperately hard not to let the tears leave my eyes. “And pretty soon an army of servants are going to come charging through that door-”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Sparkler is in distraction-mode as we speak.”

The image of Dorian starting a fire or sweet talking the servants so I can escape sends a laugh right out of my mouth. But I quickly revert back to a woeful state.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I sit pathetically on the edge of the bed and welcome Varric’s assistance. He seals each button with ease and remembers to smile at my fragile face in between. 

“Whatever happened with Chuckles-”

“You didn’t miss much,” I interrupt before he gets too far. “No dragons, no army of demons. Just some polite conversation about the destruction of Thedas.”

I don’t want to think about it too hard. The more details I remember, the more reasons I have to break down again.

" _Shit._ You think you know a guy,” Varric says before remembering who he’s talking to. Nobody in Thedas is more surprised, more _pained_ by Solas’ motivations than I. Not only was I wrong about the man I trusted with my life, but I was wrong about my entire people’s history. 

_Another thing to thank the Bringer of Nightmares for, I guess._

Varric continues making me look somewhat presentable before my return to the Exalted Council. He gently wraps the blue shawl over my shoulder, tying it around my waist while my hand fidgets awkwardly.

“Something was blocking us from following you at the Crossroads. I tell ya, those were the longest five minutes of our lives.”

_Five minutes? I was talking to Solas for … five minutes?_

“Solas’ doing, I presume.”

_He wanted me alone._

“I figured he had something to do with it. Didn’t exactly help with the anxiety, though,” Varric sighs.

A lump forms in my throat and I realize I need to steer the conversation far away from Solas.

“I’m surprised you’re not in there right now,” I admit, referencing the Exalted Council. “In your absence, there’s no one to make snarky comments in the back of the room.”

“I’ll make up for it later - over drinks.” Varric finds my eyes. “ _After you do what you need to do._ ” 

Of course he knows I’m disbanding the Inquisition. He can see it all over my face. He probably saw it before I did.

“Are you … disappointed in me?” The words come out sounding more defeated than I intended and, as a result, the tears finally release themselves. 

He’s never seen me like this - nobody has. I wouldn’t let them. 

Varric cups my shoulders in his hands and grips tightly.

“ _Never,_ ” he reassures as I sob against my collar. “Whatever happens in the next ten minutes will never change all the good you did. Hell, all the good _we_ did. Together. I wouldn’t trade us for the world.”

Varric’s gladly received presence reminds me how I wish I wasn’t alone when seeing Solas again. He wouldn’t have called me ‘vhenan’. He wouldn’t have gotten close enough to kiss me. And I wouldn’t have to remember every horrifying detail of his plan for myself.

But in some ways I’m glad. I know Varric and the others won’t be around forever and getting used to their endless support will only hurt worse in their absence. 

Varric pulls me into a hug - our first, I think. And the thought of letting him go weighs heavy on my heart.

In the days to come, my friends will not agree with some of the choices I have to make. They may start to look at me differently, they may start to wonder if I was ever fit to be their leader. And presently, I’m questioning it myself.


	2. The End of It

On my return to the grand hall, I carry the Divine’s writ under my right arm. It’s much heavier than I imagined it’d be when I planned for the moment ahead. 

I feel my heartbeat quicken once the dimly lit entryway is in view. My shoulders grow rigid with fear but I try to hide it before anyone notices. I listen to the voices inside the grand hall grow in intensity. Teagan shouts something about Solas, taking away my last shred of patience. The mention of his name feeds my anger; my desire to disband. The two guards ahead sense my urgency and step aside as the lumbering doors clear a path for me.

As I step through, I’m greeted by chaos. Josephine stands before the council and over her shoulder, catches a glimpse of my unexpected entrance. The look of distress and fatigue on her face rivals my own. Not far from her is Cassandra, who appears to be terribly bored until she lays her fierce gaze upon me. With one simple nod, she assures me that no matter what happens, I have her support. _We both know I’ll need it._ Before reaching the bench, I also manage to spot Cullen’s blonde mane in the crowd. I make eye contact with him for only a second - but it’s enough to tell me he’s worried about my mental and physical state more than he ever has been.

“Inquisitor, what are you doing?” he asks as I hurry past him. 

Uproarious voices from the masses morph into hushed whispers at the sight of their “Herald” - one-armed, exhausted, and eager to end this once and for all.

* * *

As I speak before the Exalted Council, it feels as though my mouth and body are moving of their own accord. I can barely see the appalled looks, or hear the dramatic gasps. I feel distant, far away from the Winter Palace. As if I never left the pile of rubble in front of the eluvian. 

“Effective immediately, the Inquisition is disbanded,” is the last thing I say before charging for the doors.

The gossip and grumbles of Ferelden and Orlesian nobles follow me out, and I immediately wonder if I did the right thing. I try to remind myself that the Inquisition was never mine to begin with - it was orchestrated by someone with a much darker goal. But unsurprisingly, that hurts more.

Every step down the royal blue rug is slower, more agonizing. 

_Five minutes with him after two years was enough to make me question everything._

When Solas left the first time, I was devastated beyond belief. But I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me angry, seeing me _care_ \- even though we both knew I was and I did. I like to think I’ve evolved in his absence; that when he saw me at The Crossroads, he was surprised by my courage, my unapologetic anger, my unflinching determination to save him from himself. 

Perhaps it’s simply wishful thinking that our brief encounter made him a little less sure or a little more remorseful. 

_But is that so ridiculous to believe? That I have some power over his choices too?_

_Or has our connection always and truly been one-sided?_

I feel sick. My eyes still burn from crying into Varric’s entirely too hairy chest earlier in the day.

_How is Solas capable of doing these things? To our friends? To me? To the world?_

I want to fight for the soul he may not have. I want to fight for the redemption he may not be capable of. But right now, I mainly want to crawl into a hole and forget that any of this is happening.

Before my knees completely give in to the floor, Dorian and Bull catch me on both sides.

“Upsy-daisy, my friend. Now’s not the time to make yet _another_ scene,” Dorian says with a smirk. 

“We keep meeting like this, Boss,” Bull voices flirtily, referencing the fact that I’ve fainted into his arms just a _few_ too many times today. 

“Shut it, both of you,” I manage with a small laugh. They take me somewhere far enough away from the council chambers and prying eyes so we can talk. Bull stabilizes me into a chair while I try to drown out the noise from down the hall. 

“Things just got terribly interesting. Perhaps I should delay my return to Tevinter,” Lord Pavus jokes with a hint of believability.

Bull and I exchange hopeful looks but we know it’s too good to be true. As much as we need Dorian, Tevinter needs him more.

I hear someone burst through the doors, letting in a moment of the room’s chaos. It’s Cassandra, who proceeds to storm down the corridor like she’s about to slaughter a horde of demons with only the power of her stare.

“Are you alright, Inquis-” She cuts herself off, probably unsure of how to address me now. Cassandra kneels down to my level and places a hand on my knee, her eyes even more earnest than before. " _Are you alright?_ ”

I know how she wants me to respond - how _all_ of them want me to respond. They’ve seen me angry. They’ve seen me in mourning. But they’ve never seen me weak and I don’t think they’re ready for it.

“Too much excitement for one day,” I answer with a flash of a sardonic smile. I’m nearly out of breath when I pat her hand a few times. Again, Cassandra deepens her stare.

“What did you mean in there? ‘The war is over, for most of us’?” There’s an almost-hunger in her voice; like she’s looking forward to having something to sink her sword into again.

Before I can get a word out, Cullen swoops into our group huddle with Josephine following behind. She holds the Divine’s writ close to her chest, as if it’s the last remnant of the Inquisition, and she doesn’t want to let it go. 

“Are you going to make us tie you to the bed?” 

“We have some rope you can borrow,” Bull says with a wink at Dorian. 

“Ugh,” Cassandra groans.

“I couldn’t just lay there while the fate of the Inquisition was unsettled,” I answer. “We needed to end it. It needed to end …” My voice trails off. 

In our secluded corner of The Winter Palace, I find the concerned eyes of each of my friends - all desperate for answers that I learned at the Crossroads. The true identity of Fen’harel remains a mystery to these faces and I envy them because of it. But I know I can’t keep them in the dark forever.

“We should relocate. Somewhere more private.”

* * *

After disclosing the disturbing details of Solas’ plans, I retreat back to bed - against my will. Josephine firmly believes rest will make me feel better but she is blissfully unaware of the content of my dreams. I might prefer the pain of losing my arm over the pain of seeing Solas, who’s responsible for its absence. 

Josephine fluffs a few pillows under my head and covers me with a woolen blanket. Every time she moves, it’s nurturing, it’s loving, it’s kindness I don’t deserve for being such a lousy leader today. 

“Josephine I … I don’t need to be tucked in,” I make known to her and every other lingering soul in the hallway. I think I hear Cassandra laugh. 

“Be grateful I settled for just _one_ guard outside your door,” she says through a charming smile.

Without showing me his face, I see an arm attached to a strapping young man wave at me through the doorway, assuring me that I'm protected. Or _trapped._

Without a doubt, it belongs to Cullen. 

_Cullen is my babysitter?_

Josephine reads the confusion on my face and sits gracefully at the edge of my bed.

“We have enemies. More than we did yesterday,” she says with a twinge of fear in her voice. “And if what you’re saying about the Inquisition is true … we must be careful.”

I thought I _was_ being careful. I felt safe with Blackwall, I felt happy with Solas. I felt grateful for the servant we fired last month for stealing coins out of my pouch.

_Is the answer to never trust anyone again?_

“It’s laughable how many times we’ve been wrong about the people we love,” I say and it sounds pitiful. It _is_ pitiful. I don’t have it in me to find another traitor in one of my friends.

Josephine wants to tell me it will never happen again; that the worst is over. But she can’t.

All she can give me is, “Sleep well, Inquisitor,” and a pained smile. I wonder if she’ll ever bring herself to call me something different. _What if that’s all I am to them?_

She pats my shoulder softly and leaves me alone under an extravagant chandelier coated in gold, reminding me how much I miss my simple days in the forest before any of this happened.

* * *

In dreams, I see a black wolf with pale blue eyes I’d never forget. His mournful gaze is unmistakable. For the longest time, all we do is watch each other. 

We pretend it’s enough.

The fur on his back twitches as though he’s about to leave and my heart crumbles at the thought. 

I want to talk to him. Tell him he’s not alone. Say things I’d never say when I’m conscious. 

There are oceans between us but I attempt the impossible. I reach for him with the hand I have left, praying he does the same. 

He’s gone.

I sleep for a few hours. It’s enough.


	3. The Goodbye

That evening, I linger on the balcony with my companions, watching the sun set on a brand new world. With the Inquisition officially disbanded, many of those who surround me will be free to return to their families, their lives, some semblance of normalcy, while a much stranger fate awaits me at Skyhold. 

Soon, it will be empty. The castle, the courtyard, the stables, the garden - empty. And I have yet to decide if I plan to rot away within the desolate wasteland that remains. Continuing to operate out of an enemy’s former residence is ill-advised, but it seems foolish to give up a perfectly good castle. 

_Even if it did belong to an elven God who broke my heart and disintegrated my arm._

Josephine, Cassandra, Cullen and I will journey back soon; we’ll spend the next few weeks dismissing soldiers, making arrangements, and giving out final assignments. In other words, returning the castle to the state of bleak emptiness it was when we found it. It’s not a project I look forward to.

As the sun blankets me in its glowing warmth, I realize - with sadness - that the situation at hand is preventing me from enjoying what may be one of the last moments of peace I’m afforded. I feel estranged from my friends, many of whom, after tomorrow, I may not see again for a long time; I want so desperately to talk to them - to joke, to laugh, to embrace, to bid tearful farewells. 

And yet, I cannot. The Dread Wolf occupies my mind. 

_What’s stopping him from tearing down the Veil - now?_

_He’s stronger than ever, but he must not be strong enough to carry out his plans. Not yet._

_Without the Orb, he’ll need another source of power._

_Where would he find that? What would that even look like?_

Varric seems to catch the wheels turning in my brain and nudges me with an elbow.

“Hush, Silver. I can hear you mumbling ambush tactics from all the way down here.”

“Then don’t listen,” I hiss at him with a half-smile. 

“Come on,” Varric insists. “The destruction of Thedas will still be here tomorrow. But that sunset? A one time thing.”

 _He’s right,_ I tell myself. _If nothing else, give yourself this moment._

I watch the horizon blossom into an explosion of color, allowing the vision to take me away from all-things-Solas.

* * *

Dorian and I wander into the palace’s library, periodically rotating our bodies to take in the entire room. Blues and golds and elegant statues are found at every turn, as well as the all-consuming aroma of something floral yet deadly. I watch as Dorian lifts a book from its towering shelf and blows dust off the cover. It’s as if this room has never been used, never been touched - a beautiful mausoleum where ancient knowledge is entombed. 

“This takes me back.” His voice is just shy of a whisper but it still echoes. “You. Me. Surrounded by literature and the world’s impending doom.”

He flips through thick pages and inhales their musky scent before placing the book back on its shelf. 

“It certainly does,” I agree with another scan of the room. “Although … I can’t deny Orlesian decor gives me a headache.” _Or maybe it’s Orlais in general_.

“I suppose that means you prefer the insufferably rustic feel of Skyhold.”

“ _Rustic?_ You find it rustic?”

“Insufferably.”

It makes me laugh. It makes me remember how much I’ve missed him and how much I wish we could remain together. 

“What will happen to it?” Dorian asks as he draws his finger along the shelf, collecting more dust on the way. “Once you rid the place of all its pesky inhabitors?” 

“I’m not sure,” I admit, retiring into an annoyingly lavish rocking chair. “It’s a symbol of the Inquisition. I can’t imagine it will be destroyed or completely abandoned, but as far as its future use … I suppose that decision will be left to my betters.”

Dorian crosses his arms and leans his side against the stacks. “And you? Where will you go?” 

I see right through his question. I know he’s really asking if I’m ready to let go of Skyhold after everything he _knows_ it represents for me, or if I plan to stay after everyone leaves. Returning to my clan had occurred to me - years ago. I’ve changed since then; taken on a new form, one that most likely won’t fit into the puzzle of my old life.

“I’m not sure,” I answer gloomily after a long breath, commencing a pathetic rock in my chair. Dorian makes his way into a nearby seat and studies me for a few seconds. I sense an invitation to join him in Tevinter on the tip of his tongue - but it stays there. As much as we’d both love a friend to walk through hell with, we know where he’s going is no place for an elf. 

_It’s no place for anyone._

“You’re a cheery thing this evening, aren’t you?” he asks, clamping two fingers down on his mustache and smoothing it out. Something about the hypnotic movement makes me wish I had facial hair to play with. “Let me guess: this has been the worst day in existence, yes?”

“Your observation skills never fail to impress, Lord Pavus.” 

My eyes float down to my amputated forearm, still reeling from the events that took place in the past ten hours or so. Somehow I lost a limb, an ex-lover and all faith in the Inquisition in the same amount of time it took me to learn how to ride a horse. 

“Does it hurt? Your …” He gestures to the sickly flesh wrapped in bandages. I brush my fingertips along its short length before swallowing hard. It’s sore and swollen but nothing compared to the agony of the anchor. Before I have a chance to stop the painful memories from flowing, they burst through like a flood, invading the deepest corners of my brain. 

I can hear my cries piercing the air; smell my own flesh burning in a flash of black and green. I can feel Solas’ dangerous lips on mine as if they never left. 

“It’s better than it was,” I tell Dorian and it makes me angry to admit. I don’t want to be grateful to Solas - for _anything._

“Do you wish to discuss what happened?” All the theatrics, all the show are suddenly gone from Dorian’s voice. He’s scared for me. Terrified, even. 

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” I say. Deep down, I hope it makes him drop the subject altogether, but he’s not one to give up so easily.

“Wherever you feel comfortable, my friend.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and lean forward, resting an elbow against my right side. I don’t want anyone besides Dorian to hear our conversation, to know how vulnerable I am. He sits patiently, perched on the edge of his chair, awaiting words I’ll never again say out loud.

“For two years, I thought I did something wrong. It never made sense. Him leaving. I revisited all our conversations - _every single moment_ \- trying to fill in the pieces and … nothing. I thought if I knew _why_ , I’d feel better. I could move on.” The words ‘move on’ make me laugh for some reason. “And then all of a sudden, he’s standing there, in great, big stupid armor with all the answers. And everything is worse because ... _there was nothing to fix._ Nothing I could’ve done differently.” I realize I’ve been speaking into my lap this whole time, twisting the crinkled fabric of my coat. I bring myself to meet Dorian’s gaze and bite out the rest of my speech. “What we had was over before it even started. I was nothing but a distraction. Something to make him feel like a person before he got what he really wanted.”

I watch his eyebrows twist in response. “As much as I loathe him and his horrendous ensembles, I think there’s more to it than that.”

It wasn’t the reply I expected from Dorian, but it’s intriguing all the same. 

“Hm. Enlighten me.” 

Dorian crosses his legs and slants backwards in his seat, recalling a memory. 

“I stumbled upon him one night, after you two …” Dorian’s smoky eyes drift away from mine. “He was … unkempt. Frantic. Scribbling things down before crumpling up the paper, ranting and raving to himself, whispering your name. If he had hair, it would’ve been in _complete_ disarray. He’d been crying - if you can believe it.”

 _I can’t_. The image of Solas, ever-stoic, losing his composure over anything other than the Fade or ancient elven artifacts truly strains credulity. 

“He was probably just having a bad reaction to tea,” I rebuff with an eye roll. 

“Think what you will. But you two were playing the same game. Both parties refused to show weakness to the other.” 

My body stiffens at Dorian’s words; suddenly, I find myself questioning the years I spent thinking that Solas didn’t care - that he never cared.

“Did you say anything to him? When you … found him?” I breathe, gnawing at the inside of my cheek.

“Absolutely not. He’s terrifying. If you saw an archdemon crying, would you stop to say hello?”

_Well. Can’t argue with that logic._

I catch Dorian taking a quick peek at the clock before resting a hand on my shoulder, gently tugging me closer. 

“If only things were simpler - black-and-white, good-and-evil … unfortunately, we live in a world where one can be capable of both doing terrible, _terrible_ things, and loving others deeply, truly.” Dorian sighs thoughtfully and slowly bows his head, a raven curl threatening to fall. It’s apparent his words carry the memory of Alexius. I place a hand on top of his and offer a pained smile I’ve used far too much today.

"You can rest easier knowing he truly cared for you. But it shouldn’t change a thing beyond that,” he continues with caution. “We both know the consequences of a failed Inquisition. We’ve seen it. After everything, it’d be a shame if we stopped one horrible future from occurring only to succumb to one much worse.” Dorian’s steely grey eyes are now brimming with something other than concern for me; it’s concern for what I might do. “I _know_ you want to save him. But there may not be a way into The Dread Wolf’s heart.”

Before I have a chance to curse, cry or congratulate him on remembering one of Solas’ thirty titles, there’s a fervent knock at the door. We trade looks of ‘who could that be’ before I rise to my feet for the answer. My fingers linger on the knob for a few seconds before opening the door. 

Waiting on the other side is a young elf with a sweetly crooked mouth and a faint scar above her eyebrow. She’s years younger than the average messenger, just young enough for it to strike me as odd. She wears a honey-brown tunic the color of her eyes, which are now looking up at me like that of a child.

“Pardon me, your Worship. Divine Victoria wishes to speak with you.” Her voice is stoic, wise beyond her years. 

“Where?” I hear myself ask. The girl doesn’t break eye-contact, doesn’t even blink.

“The prison basement in five minutes.” 

“Will … anyone else be in attendance?” 

“She offered no other information, your Worship.”

As I look down at her, an invasive feeling of mistrust grows inside of me. All I can hear is Josephine’s voice in my head.

_We have enemies. More than we did yesterday. We have to be careful._

After learning of Solas’ spies in the Inquisition, why would Leliana expect me to follow a stranger’s request blindly? Even if she does look … harmless.

“What’s your name?” I question her.

“Mirisa, your Worship.”

“Mirisa - why didn’t The Divine fetch me herself?”

The child sends a few rapid blinks in my direction, clearly taken aback by my level of curiosity. She expected me to submit without questions.

“Pardon?” 

“You heard me.”

“She’s an inquisitive Inquisitor,” Dorian calls to us, seemingly miles behind me. “Answer the question, friend.” 

“I-I don’t know,” Mirisa stammers, shaking in boots that are much too big for her. “I’m merely doing as I was told.” 

I feel a pang of guilt in response to her fear. My paranoia has allowed me to attack an innocent stranger who was simply instructed to deliver a message. I draw in a long breath and try to start over.

“My apologies, Mirisa. The last time I was told to meet her, it was from the mouth of a Fen’harel agent masquerading as one of mine. I’m afraid I’m feeling … a little less trustworthy,” I reveal before offering a soft smile. 

The girl seems appalled that I would suggest such a thing. _I’m_ appalled that I would suggest such a thing. 

“I’m no agent of _Fen’Harel,_ ” she remarks flippantly. Mirisa’s tone tells me she’s familiar with the legend and like most elves, regards Fen’Harel as a betrayer. “I serve The Divine and The Divine alone.”

“Understood,” I say and watch her eyes soften accordingly. “Thank you for the message.”

“Of course, your Worship.”

And with that, she bows and leaves me standing in the threshold with a shameful look on my face until Dorian pulls me out of it.

“Inquisition business is so tiring,” he drawls, meeting me at my side. “Hm. ‘Inquisition.’ I suppose we should start calling it something else now, shouldn’t we?”

“Think up a few names while I’m gone,” I reply, trying to smooth out some of the wrinkles in my uniform. “Something with … _flair._ ”

Dorian replies with melancholic eyes, and I suddenly realize he won’t be here when I get back.

“ _No_ … already?” 

“The Exalted Council is over. I promised to return to Tevinter. Outside, my chariot awaits,” he says with a briefly hopeful grin. “Not really, it’s an escort named Gregor who I’m almost positive is going to kill me in my sleep.”

“I just … the day got away from me,” I utter weakly. “I thought we’d have more time.”

“Me too,” Dorian says with a regretful look in his eyes.

“What about Bull?” 

“We said our goodbyes. Besides, I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. A Qunari spy and a Tevinter mage? We’re _destined_ for a happy ending,” he adds with a sardonic smile.

I fall into Dorian’s arms. The hug encapsulates everything I want to say and more. 

“Remember the sending crystal. Use it. _Please_ ,” he whispers against my shoulder. It tells me Dorian will need me just as much as I need him.

Before I’m ready to let go, I feel Dorian slip through my fingers and hurry out the door before he changes his mind about leaving.

* * *

“Are you certain it’s safe to speak freely?” I peek around corners and check behind doors while Leliana watches me with a curious eye. 

“Not here. Follow me,” she answers, gesturing for me to pick up a veilfire torch before accompanying her into the unknown. 

All cells appear to be empty but one - and I’m responsible for filling it. Gripping the metal bars trapping them inside is the servant I had arrested earlier in the day; the one Solas revealed to be an agent of the Qunari. Laced between his teeth is a wicked grin I can only assume is for me. My eyes dart back in the direction of Leliana and I try to pretend he isn’t real.

She leads me down a dark hallway where all that remains on the ground are fragments of broken stones. By the time we reach our destination, we’ve turned enough corners to make me confident I’ll never be able to find this place on my own. 

Leliana ushers me into a secret room where water leaks from the ceiling. An elongated table with a map of Thedas lives in the center of the space, surrounded by stone walls, blood-curdling statues of the dead and a cell that hasn’t been used in what looks like centuries. _It’s not as charming at our war table in Skyhold, but … it has character._ I warily abandon my torch at the entrance as Leliana lights a few candles and sets them down on the table. 

“A dungeon date with The Divine,” I try playfully, but it comes out more panicked than I intended. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We have a few matters to discuss,” Leliana says before taking a brief glimpse of me hanging by the door. “You seem tense. Did Marisa give you a hard time?” 

“Just the opposite,” I answer, feeling another rush of embarrassment that I attacked her for doing her job. “Solas’ agents plagued the Inquisition. The first thing I did was accuse her of being one,” I add with a nervous chuckle before closing the door and tugging at the knob to ensure it’s locked. “A _child_.”

“Well done, Inquisitor.”

The languid rhythm of Leliana’s voice makes me turn around as I suspect something wicked is lingering on her tongue.

“The child of whom you speak? One of the many agents Solas and I share,” she reveals, her lightly freckled face shadowed by fire. “I’m certain of it.” 

My heart falls into my stomach. 

“An agent of Fen’Harel? But … she’s -” I cut myself off, hoping a small gap of silence will help me process. It doesn’t. “She’s … so young.”

Leliana nods and for one brief, barely-noticeable second, she looks troubled; like perhaps this child meant something to her.

“If she's going where she thinks true power lies, then I've taught her well,” Leliana informs me. Any trace of hurt on her face quickly vanishes as she leans forward and tightens her grip on the table between us, a sinuous smirk pulling at her lips.

“We can use this to our advantage. Pass on false information, lead Solas astray.”

“You think … that will work?” I ask skeptically, still reeling from the realization that both Leliana and Solas recruit child spies. 

“You’ll have to sell it. I’m already making arrangements to send Marisa back to Skyhold with you.” Leliana’s voice has a yearning quality that begins to worry me.

“I’m … not sure how comfortable I am with this.” 

I suddenly understand why we’re alone. Cullen would never approve of this game Leliana seems eager to play. If he knew the identity of a Fen’Harel spy, he’d think it best to arrest and execute them publicly. Leliana knows this. She wanted me to meet Marisa first, to see the sweet young face that Cullen would gladly eliminate for our cause.

“To navigate this relationship and others you may face, you will need spy training, of course,” she thinks out loud, ignoring me completely. “From someone you trust …” Leliana’s smirk broadens as an idea combs through her thoughts. “The Iron Bull.”

“What? I don’t -”

“The Iron Bull will return to Skyhold with you,” she interjects. “Give you lessons. Teach you a little something about stealth.” 

_Bull? Who had no idea who Solas really was? Who didn’t know his spies were in the Inquisition? That Bull?_

“If you recall, my Keeper sent me to the Chantry’s Conclave as a spy once. It wasn’t exactly a successful mission,” I tell her and I’m suddenly pacing around the room unable to catch my breath. “Consider me retired.” 

Leliana raises a deadly eyebrow.

“Do you want to find Solas or not?” Her voice has darkened into something low and, quite honestly, a little terrifying. 

It is then that I realize I’m in no position to decline. By disbanding the Inquisition, I ensured that what few of us are left just became the Chantry’s private military. If The Divine wants to send me home with a Fen’Harel spy, _she will._

“Yes,” I answer mousily, submitting to her perilous plan. I lean my back against the wall, dazed and defeated. “What do we tell the others? Cassandra -”

“Nothing. Besides your advisors, The Iron Bull is the only one who absolutely needs to be made aware of our plan. I suppose that makes him your new Spymaster.”

_Leliana is choosing Bull as her successor?_

_This conversation gets stranger and stranger._

“When you return to Skyhold, I will coordinate with him,” Leliana continues, watching me from the corner of her eye. “We will trace the flow of information and hopefully it will lead to something worthwhile.”

Leliana isn’t the only one with demands begging to be heard, and I no longer wish to discuss what she’s decided is happening for me.

“Aside from learning his location, we need to figure out what Solas is after,” I say, circling the table anxiously. “If he had everything he needed to tear down the Veil, he would’ve done it already. He wouldn’t have bothered telling me his plan.” 

Leliana looks almost pleased that I’m exercising what little authority I have left. I wipe the sweat from my brow. _I’m sick of wearing this stupid uniform._ I wonder if The Divine feels the same about her own.

“Perhaps Solas doesn’t know what he’s looking for and he wants us to find it for him,” she states plainly. It’s the first time I consider that horrifying possibility.

_Was that the ulterior motive behind telling me his plan? To make sure I was invested enough to go looking for every possible way to stop it, thus leading him to whatever he needs?_

“Maybe,” I say, slowly realizing how dry my throat is. “So we’ll have to be smart about it.”

“If what Solas told you is true,” Leliana begins, her emerald eyes settling on me. “This kind of event requires a terrible sacrifice - one that he has already accepted as necessary and is unlikely to walk away from.”

She sounds sure - so sure in fact it’s making me nauseous. 

“I have to try,” I tell her and I’m suddenly relieved nobody else is in the room. For whatever reason, Leliana has always understood my desire to find Solas. Even now, _even after everything_ , she understands my desire to save him.

The others will not. 

I do not.


	4. Pretend

The night comes and goes without dreams of lovers or wolves. I lie underneath piles of knotted blankets, shielding my face from sunlight that seems determined to wake me. Slowly I start to gather the memory that a healer visited earlier to check on my bandages. I was thrashing in my sleep, trying to make sense of a shooting pain in an arm that no longer exists. He mumbled something about my pulse before bathing my injury in waves of healing energy - an avenue of magic that continues to baffle me. I fell back asleep and woke with feelings of numbness in more places than just my wound.

I think about the weeks ahead; weeks that will surely be filled with doubt and anguish, longing and regret; weeks that will be spent worrying about Solas, when I know my focus is needed elsewhere. But my friends will be there, at my side, guiding me through the pitfalls of being a one-handed, emotionally unstable Inquisitor. 

But oddly enough, it’s not the weeks ahead that worry me most - it’s what comes after. When everyone is gone.

What will I do when Bull takes some job in Orlais and we haven’t finished clearing out our supply of exotic wines?

How will I cope when Cullen and his flowing mane ride off to Ferelden, and there’s no one around to help me make hard and fast decisions?

Who will I be when Cassandra isn’t here to argue with me, to infuriate me, to make me see things differently?

Before I get further down the list, my eyes snap open to a couple knocks at the door. 

“Uh … come in,” I call out reluctantly, my voice still hoarse from exhaustion. I push myself up using my right forearm alone and grumble when it’s not an effortless endeavor. 

A servant bursts through the door with a tray full of food - two eggs sprinkled with thyme, accompanied by an assortment of steamed vegetables and a pot of Antivan coffee. The sweet smell of sustenance reminds me that I haven’t eaten since noon yesterday, and even then it was a couple miniscule bites of a muffin.

He lays the tray flat on my bedside table and backs away, trying to gauge my reaction to the food. “Can I get you anything else, Master Lavellan?”

My body hasn’t fully woken up yet by the time he’s restless for an answer. I brush a couple strands of staticky hair out of my eyes and send him off with, “No, that will be all,” and a belated “thank you” by the time he’s in the hallway. 

As I wasn’t able to get through one syllable without yawning, my first instinct is to reach for the coffee. But suspicion sets in again. 

“It’s not poisoned. I checked,” says a gruff voice as if it heard my thoughts. Blackwall peeks his head into the room before walking inside.

“How exactly did you do that?” I ask, an eyebrow curving upwards.

“I … took a sip of the coffee. And a bite of your eggs. And a nibble of broccoli.”

“Is that so?” I poke the food with my fork and begin to notice the empty chunks. “Ah, there it is.”

“I wouldn’t let him inside without a taste. You’re too valuable to have such an embarrassing death.” His gravelly laugh brings a smile to my face. 

_Am I still valuable?_

“Well, that was awfully courageous of you. And stupid. Very stupid,” I say through a chuckle, reaching for the coffee pot. Initially, it’s difficult to pick up, but I try not to let my struggle show. I shakily pour some coffee into my mug - Blackwall looks ready to step in at any time.

“Courageous and stupid. That’s me,” he says proudly.

“So, what’s this about?” I question with a gesture towards the door. “Are you and Cullen taking shifts or what?”

“We just want to make sure you’re safe. There’s no harm in that.”

“You all think I’m defenseless now.” 

Blackwall can’t bring himself to lie to me. Not anymore. But right now, I’d _kill_ for it.

He stands silently in the threshold while I take the angriest sip of coffee, allowing its smoky, delectable taste to soothe me. It does not disappoint. 

“We’re having a little gathering in the tavern tonight to send everyone off. It’d mean a lot if you were there,” he tries hopefully, his deep, brown eyes softening on me. 

I pop a carrot into my mouth and think it over. A planned social gathering in Orlais makes me nervous, but the promise of alcohol makes the idea more appetizing. _A lot more._

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I tell him and watch his smile broaden. I see a man who's genuinely content with the life he’s found with the Wardens. He’s finally at peace. I’m grateful someone came out of the Inquisition better off than they were before. 

“Here,” I say, reaching for the coffee pot once more. “Bring the rest to Josephine. You two can share it.” 

* * *

Before a reluctant return to Skyhold in the morning, I spend my last night in Orlais at the tavern surrounded by familiar faces. Bull supplies the alcohol, Varric supplies the stories and Cole stays close by in case I start weeping into my drink. 

“The Iron Bull was a great slab of muscle with horns that could hang a tapestry. One eye scanned for threats, while the other hid behind an eye patch like a chantry sister’s old sins,” Varric reads from the pages of his new literary success, _All This Shit Is Weird_. His voice is animated, rich with emotion.

“‘A great slab of muscle’? You flatter me, Varric,” Bull grins before handing the storyteller a chalice of something strong.

“Happy to be of service.”

“Do me next,” Cole chimes in, an almost-smile hidden by an oversized hat. Dressed in a silk shirt with three buttons left undone, Cole sits behind a full glass of whiskey that will undoubtedly go untouched. Varric licks a finger and flips through the pages while we wait in anticipation. 

“Ready, Kid?” Varric shimmies his shoulders, conjuring up his narrator voice yet again. “Cole moved like a shadow that also moved like a knife, a shadow wearing a hat where dreams came to die.”

“I like it,” says Cole. “You mentioned my hat.”

In the midst of playful conversation, a thought plagues my mind; a thought that could lead to an answer I don’t actually want to know.

“So, you wrote about everyone? And … everything?” I ask, nibbling on my lower lip. 

“All the bits people will pay for,” Varric confirms before realizing what I was really asking. Years ago, he seemed determined to include in his book any slice of Inquisition romance he could find. I had forgotten that included mine. 

And with that, my desire to read _All This Shit Is Weird_ is postponed for the time being. Varric closes his book and changes the subject accordingly.

“So, where’s everyone headed?” he asks before nominating Bull to go first. “Tiny?” 

“There’s always work to be done,” he answers, filling up his glass until foam spills over the top. “The Chargers and I won’t go far.” Bull shoots me the subtlest of looks that tells me Leliana has already spoken with him about his return to Skyhold. “You?”

“Ah, you know. Kirkwall-bound. Viscount duties,” Varric shrugs and takes a long swig of whatever’s in his cup. “I’m in Hell.”

“Viscount Tethras - has a nice ring to it,” Bull says with a clink of their glasses. 

I look to the gentle soul in the stool next to mine and say: “Cole? What about you?”

He crinkles his nose and faces the rest of the group. “Where Maryden goes, I will follow, as long as she will have me.”

“I knew underneath all that creepy spirit crap, you were a ladies’ man,” says Bull with an ear-to-ear smile. Cole doesn’t have the slightest idea how to react.

A few moments pass before Sera announces her presence by slinkily hopping onto the wooden countertop and swinging her legs.

“It’s so like you to fancy the bad boys, Inky.” Her tongue is sharp as an arrow and quick enough to pierce through every wall I’ve managed to keep up until this moment. 

“Sera, don’t,” I groan into my goblet of wine before finishing it off. 

“I’m just sayin’. I knew there was something off about that one. Too elfy.”

“ _Sera_.” The venom in my voice doesn’t phase her, nor my icy stare. It makes me angrier.

Bull slides another drink in front of me - _just in time._

“Oh, loosen up, you!” Sera titters, her voice full of far too much excitement for me to handle at the moment. “Fen’Haralawala is gonna get what’s comin’ to him.”

A long awaited sigh escapes my lips. I have to remind myself that Sera’s teasing is harmless and I need to get used to people bringing Solas up casually and without warning. I gulp down some of my drink while Bull leans over the counter between us with a raised eyebrow. 

“Want me to throw her?” 

“Pfft. You get any closer, I’ll kick your arse,” Sera says warningly, a wily smirk tugging at the corner of her lips like she’s about to pounce. The sharp-tongued rebel soon gets distracted when Blackwall enters the tavern. “Hey, Beardy. ‘Bout frigging time,” she greets him as if she’s been waiting years for his arrival.

Blackwall unveils a freshly-baked apple pie and sets it on a table near the bar. Sera’s silver eyes are now the size of the moon. “As promised, Fuzzhead.”

Sera leaps off the counter with an ear-to-ear grin and gives Blackwall a quick squeeze before settling down in front of the pie. “Oh, _tits_. I have to share, right?”

“No need. Josephine was right behind me with some … frilly cakes or something,” Blackwall replies, checking over his shoulder distractedly. A spark glimmers in Sera’s eyes and that’s when I know she has an inappropriate joke at the ready.

“ _She_ was right behind _you_? Sure it wasn’t the other way around?” Sera winks suggestively and thrusts at the table before exploding into laughter. My glass is empty by the time Blackwall catches on.

“You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” he grumbles and slouches down into the spot next to her. I can smell the disapproval of Sera’s raunchy behavior echo through the tavern but she couldn’t care less. 

“I don’t think, I know,” Sera says with a mouthful of pie. Although she succeeded in pissing me off moments before, I can’t help but grin as I watch her now. Her self-assurance, her refusal to conform, to change for anyone … it all continues to amaze me on numerous levels. She would never dare hide who she was or how she feels; not to her enemies, to her friends, or her lovers. I never knew that quality would give me such comfort in the days where ulterior motives and masks were unveiled. 

Sera peeks up from her half-way devoured pie and finds the barely-noticeable smile on my face, returning it with her own. It’s a simple moment, but one I’m glad to hold on to. 

My jaw sits in my right hand as Bull sets another drink in front of me. The citrusy scent of satin-smooth wine in my glass has been replaced by something foul. _Dragon Piss_ , I think. I stare at it for a while, mentally preparing for the bitter taste.

“It’s an Iron Bull special. I _promise_ it’s good,” he reassures me. 

“I concur,” Varric adds before I can claim it’s poison. 

“I’m going to regret this,” I say under my breath.

When I finally take a sip, I catch one of the Inquisition’s elven guards making her rounds in the tavern - a guard I _swear_ had vallaslin on her face yesterday. The strong, honey liquor slides down my throat and I barely notice.

“What do you think, Boss?” Bull asks but I am far away. The laughter and chatter of my friends fades into background noise. 

_Solas._

_Only he knows how to … she might be one of his._

_One of his._

The elf passes our pod and loses her footing when she sees the look on my face. I’ve been leering at her, my hand unintentionally rounding into a fist. 

_There’s no trace of blood writing on her face like there was before - none._

_A small detail that the others might not have known to connect to Solas._

“Need something, your worship?”

I have an urge to confront her, to demand to know what she knows. But I think about Leliana, and if she would approve of me interrogating a suspect in the middle of the tavern. “ _Absolutely not_ ,” she’d say. “ _Give no indication of doubt. Smile and send her away. We can turn this problem into an opportunity_.”

But the roaring inside my chest is louder than The Divine, and the words start flooding out before I have a chance to stop them.

“Your vallaslin was removed. How?” 

“My what?” she winces. 

“The tattoos. He’s the only one who knows how to do that.”

“Who?”

“You know who. Tell me why he sent you.”

I’m starting to lose my composure and the others are starting to notice. The guard stands her ground. 

“I’m sorry, your worship. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never even had-”

“You're lying. You had the vallaslin. You had the …” 

In my hundredth survey of her face, I become less sure.

_Perhaps I’m … mistaken. Perhaps there never was any vallaslin to remove._

_… or perhaps she is lying._

I catch the look on Bull’s face and it is then that I know I’m in the wrong. _This was not the way to go about this._

Cole senses something shift roughly inside me. Words that seemed unimportant at the time come rushing to the surface.

_She is bare-faced, embarrassed, and she doesn't know. She thinks it's because of her._

_He hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same._

_You're real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can't._

I can feel the tears - _the incessant, useless, waste-of-time tears_ find their way back to my eyes. I slide off the stool and stumble out of the tavern, my hand pressed hard against my torso as I try to keep the storm of emotions at bay. Cole follows me out and huddles close to me, trying to alleviate some of the hurt that memory carried. 

“Two bright souls that shouldn’t have met, but did,” he whispers into the night. “Hurting, haunting, holding each other to make the pain stop. It almost worked.” I cover my mouth, trying to trap the sounds of erratic sobs. “The rope is unraveling but he’s afraid to let go. You can’t let him.”

I bring myself to look at Cole for a second. Wisps of blonde hair cover his eyes but I can still see the pain in them - _my_ pain. It should make me feel better but it doesn’t. The pressure building in my chest doesn’t budge and the tears forming in my eyes continue to roll. 

Cole knew - _the whole time_. He knew Solas was more than he claimed to be. I was always inches away from learning the truth. 

“What do you mean?” I mewl softly into his shoulder in an attempt to disguise the sound from those inside.

“I couldn’t save him,” Cole whispers while shaking his head to the ground. He looks me dead in the eyes. “But you can.”

* * *

I stare up at the endless ceiling and wonder how much time has passed since Cole walked me back to my room. I refused to show my pathetic, blubbering face to everyone in the tavern, so he accompanied me back to the palace and caught as many tears as he could on the journey there. 

_Weeping through the streets is always nicer with a friend._

It’s late. We managed to avoid running into anyone of importance, not that their opinions of me matter much anymore. But the incident with the guard - or spy, perhaps - surely attracted the attention of those _inside_ the tavern, people whose opinions I do care about. 

_What they must think of me._

Once an esteemed leader, now an emotionally-unstable wreck who can’t keep it together for one night - the _last_ night I’ll be seeing some of them.

I know they want to help. But this isn’t the kind of thing that can be solved with a story or a joke or an arrow. 

_Time_ is the solution and _time_ is why I’m terrified. 

Waiting and waiting and waiting until one day, it hurts a little less; just a little. 

I pray for such a day.

My thoughts are interrupted by the door creaking open. A pointy ear masked by choppy, yellow tresses of hair is all that seeps through. 

“Knock, knock,” says Sera through the crack in the door. There’s a strange reservation in her voice that I’m not used to hearing. “Creepy said I could come in.”

I let out a long, exasperated sigh and return my attention to the vast nothingness above my head. 

“Have at it,” I tell her. Sera slides her slim figure through the threshold before pushing the door closed behind her. She finds herself not knowing what to do next, so she picks at her fingernails and tries to fill the silence with small talk. 

“Weird place, right?” she mutters, scanning the space around them in search of something to say. “Hate those stupid golden chandeliers. What do they think they are? Being that big and that … golden.” 

“Agreed,” I say flatly. I can sense that Sera thinks I’m upset because of her, and I don’t yet have the energy to convince her otherwise. Not now. Sera gulps rather loudly and staggers into a pace around the room.

“Listen, Ladybits. I didn’t mean to - I wasn’t _trying_ to -” she stammers, gets flustered and falls against the chair beside me in a huff. “Well, shite, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I was just having a bit of fun and-” 

“You are not responsible for that, Sera,” I interject in a thickly voice. She sits there hopelessly, not believing a word. My hand reaches forward to shake one of her shoulders. “I swear to you, the fault is not yours. It’s no one’s.” 

And I have to believe that. Otherwise, I’ll blame Leliana and Bull for not realizing who Solas was sooner. I’ll blame Cole for not telling me everything he knew from the moment he knew it. And I’ll blame Solas for being behind it all, weaving us into the mess of his lies. That blame will turn to hate and keep me from doing what I need to do, which is to save him from himself. If I can.

“Okay? The fault is no one’s,” I repeat before hugging my knees to my chest like a child. 

“Well …’cept his. Right?” 

When I don’t respond right away, she narrows her eyebrows in my direction, unleashing a powerful glare that sends my back against the wall. 

“Say it’s his own stupid fault,” Sera urges, the confusion in her eyes fuzing into anger. Nobody has been more ready to hate Solas than she. And right now, she wants me to be ready with her.

Since Sera joined the Inquisition, she has happily opposed everything Solas stands for - from the ancient ways to the Fade to his desire to “teach her.” I was always caught in the middle of their war with one another - not necessarily _proud_ of my “elfyness” but not exactly irked by it either. But their banter in the fields must have gone much deeper than I thought. And now Sera can finally revel in the fact that she was _right_ to be wary of him. 

“Tell me you’re joking,” she says, reminding me that I still owe her some kind of response. “Tell me you’re fire-shitting angry at him for lying to you!”

“Of _course_ I am,” I answer with more bite than I thought I had in me. “ _Look at what he’s reduced me to_ ,” I growl, clutching the sheets into a fist of fabric, my eyes starting to burn again. Sera’s shoulders drop slowly, her hot-tempered demeanor changing before my eyes. 

“Well … hey. You’re no less than you were. You’re … _something_ , but …”

“Well said. All better.”

“What I mean is ...” Sera interrupts herself to take a deep sigh and rises to her feet. “You won’t be sad forever.”

She presses a hard kiss into my temple and looks me dead in the eyes before adding: “You ever need a thing, call on Red Jenny.”

It’s obvious Sera isn’t used to consoling people, especially about people whose hearts she wouldn’t mind putting an arrow through. But her visit gives me something I need. 

It gives me fire.

Fire I’ll need if I’m to face Solas again.

As Sera disappears through the door, I nestle my tear-stained face underneath the covers and finally let my eyes flicker shut. The weight of the blankets pull me into a deep sleep.

* * *

“Vhenan,” the honeyed voice stings once I realize whose arms are around me; slender, protective arms caging me in. We’re on my balcony in Skyhold, staring off into the Frostbacks like no time has passed. This dream hurts. 

“Solas,” I breathe, desperately trying to hold on to my anger. The way his face fits into the crook of my neck is so cruelly perfect. _Unfair_. Like it’s never meant to be anywhere else. The curve of my back lays against his chest, wavering like a flame. 

Solas’ fingers curl around my injured forearm, examining it. He slowly turns me around, forcing me to look at everything I can’t have. 

“This is an improvement from earlier,” he drawls, his face so close I can see the slivers of blue in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

The sight of him burns. I force myself to look away, to remove my stump from his feather-like grip.

“Careful. You almost sound concerned,” I reply, letting it roll sharply off the tongue. 

Solas’ jaw tightens as I move away from him to find something less manipulative to lean on. In my impassioned walk towards the balcony window, I realize it’s snowing. Caught in the mess of my ashen hair are frozen flakes and the bitter wetness they leave behind seconds later. I twirl a few tresses of hair around my finger and study the intricate designs The Fade has created. 

This place is still beyond my understanding. I’m unsure if the Solas standing across from me is the Solas who fought at my side. The Solas that Sera loathes. The Solas that Cole begged me not to give up on. I’m only one question away from knowing the answer. All I have to do is ask ...

“I understand your anger. You’ve earned it,” he sighs, the sorrow in his voice making it difficult to look at him. “None of this was ever meant to happen.”

“It doesn’t have to. _You_ don’t have to,” I plead, finding myself abandoning my corner already to glide right into his face. “This can end. Right now.”

For a second, it looks like Solas takes it into consideration. 

“And so it shall,” he whispers against my forehead. “Until next time, ma vhenan.”

And he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Cassandra narrating 'All This Shit is Weird' is a little Easter egg at the end of Trespasser - if you haven’t heard it, here’s the link! Cutest thing. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EThZYeoIlpM


End file.
